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I’m not one of them!
Even as she mentally shouted her denial, another voice spoke in her head. With killing, merciless force.
But you will be…
Leo Makarios will reduce you to exactly that. Strip you of every last vestige of your self-respect even as he strips the clothes from your body…
Pincers bit inside her stomach, sharp and painful.
She went on staring out over the darkening sea, her mind even darker.
Facing up to what she was going to do.
What she was going to lose.
Yet, for all that was true, she could not sacrifice her friend’s future, her baby, just to protect her own self-respect.
I have to do this.
And after all, she thought, with savage mockery at her own prurience, supposing it was Jenny or jail? What would you do then? Would you still stand by her if it meant losing years of your life?
Instead of just a few days…a few nights…
So why make such a fuss about what Leo Makarios is offering?
Even as Anna let the thought into her mind she tried to suppress it.
Leo Makarios was dangerous. She’d thought him so the very first time she’d set eyes on him, and every encounter with him had proved it to her. Especially the one in her bedroom…
Memory flooded back like a drowning tide, and suddenly she was there, there again, as Leo Makarios held her, kissed her, caressed her—a sensual onslaught that had simply overwhelmed her, made it impossible for her to resist…
Until, with a strength she’d hardly been able to summon, she had flung him from her…
She shut her eyes in anguish, blocking out memory.
Self-respect? The words stabbed at her. Mocking her. Taunting her.
She wasn’t just going to sacrifice her self-respect by having deliberate, cold-blooded sex with Leo Makarios. She was going to lose it for a much, much worse reason…
She turned away abruptly. Grimly, she headed back up the beach in the brief sub-tropical dusk.
Her face had hardened.
She couldn’t get out of it now. That wasn’t in her power. Not if she wanted to keep Jenny safe, herself out of jail.
But she could, she must ensure that it was nothing but deliberate, cold-blooded sex.
Nothing more.
Dear God, let me have the strength I need—please, please!
‘More champagne?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Smoked salmon?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Caviar?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘As you wish.’ There was an amused, baiting quality to Leo’s voice. He sat back in his rattan chair on the terrace. From the veranda the gardens were landscaped so that the curve of the beach opened up, framed by palm trees. A light, cooling breeze came off the sea. Moonlight bathed the surface of the water.
It was a beautiful scene—and the woman sitting opposite him complemented it perfectly. His eyes slid over her as she sat there, ramrod-straight, staring determinedly out to sea.
She was wearing a jade-green loose silk-trousered affair, with long sleeves and a high collar. As she’d stalked across the terrace, her hair caught back in a stark, high knot, not a scrap of make-up on her, he’d read the signals coming from her as if she’d been broadcasting in neon.
She was making not the slightest attempt to look alluring.
It hadn’t worked in the least. Anna Delane would have looked alluring in a sack. Her body had a long-limbed grace that could not be disguised, and the bones of her face had been constructed with a natural artistry that meant make-up or hair-style was an irrelevance.
Oh, yes, Anna Delane had an allure that she could not suppress. Leo gave a mocking, inward smile. Even when she was doing her best to be sullen and monosyllabic, as she was now.
He took a mouthful of champagne and contemplated her. A sliver of irritation wormed its way under his amusement. She really was a piece of work—sitting there as stiff as a board and twice as hostile. He’d caught her red-handed, a proven thief. But was she abashed? Guilty? Contrite?
The words were unknown to her, clearly.
Shameless. That was the only word that fitted her.
He took another mouthful of champagne and washed off the irritation. Well, there was an expression in English that perfectly captured Ms Anna Delane’s forthcoming fate—riding for a fall.
And she would do it, very, very satisfyingly, in his bed.
Anticipation eased through him. He was going to enjoy Anna Delane, every last exquisite drop of her—and the greatest enjoyment would be her enjoyment of him. However galling it was to her.
He reached out a hand and scooped some more beluga with his spoon.
Numbly, Anna took another forkful of grilled fish. Somewhere in her mind she knew it was delicious, but it didn’t register. Nothing registered. She wouldn’t let it. Must not. Instead she just sat there, eating grilled fish and salad like an automaton, without will or feeling. Resolutely refusing to look at the man sitting opposite her.
